picture is mine
The scorching sun on my head.
The hot asphalt against my thin soles.
Daily I trudge these streets,
In search of my daily bread.
No shelter to call my own,
Nor roof to keep the rain at bay.
My shoes worn and tattered,
And my clothes dirty and frayed.
A result of a failed system,
That's left me in the wild, alone, and myself to fend.
With no hope, no job, no income.
I'm just at the mercy of the wind.
Every minute, my stomach growls in loud protest,
As I stare as they eat to their fill.
Longing for the days when things will be better,
At least I could afford to pay for a meal.
Calls from my landlord becoming persistent,
I panic, knowing what must be done.
But all my little savings are depleted,
My strength and will is almost gone.
Who do I run to, friends that I've borrowed from?
Seems like my fate is already sealed.
Under the bridge, I must sleep tonight,
Or beneath the stars, where I ask God why.
But as I lay me down to sleep,
A strong voice called from within.
"Get up, my son," it calmly says,
"For there's so much more to give."